


a helping hand

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12451245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: Jaime only has one hand. Bronn is there to help.





	a helping hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soapieturner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapieturner/gifts).



“You’re not wearing any armour.” Bronn commented absently. He had turned to lay on his side against the rolled up remnant of last night’s cot, using a knife to widdle away at a block of dry wood.

“And?” Jaime snapped. His temper was as short as his patience. It had taken nearly a half hour to remove his armour, his blasted hand buckling under the weight of the heavy steel.

Bronn shrugged, lifting his head to look quizzically at the other man before turning back to his task.“‘Ts odd to see.” he commented. “You’ve always got that golden shite hanging all over you.”

“Jealous?” Jaime returned. It was a weak response and he knew it, but he was too fatigued to think much more of anything.

“Golden armour with a golden hand or leather armour with two hands?” asked Bronn, giving another shrug. “I’ll take the leathers.” Jaime sneered, struggling to swallow his fury, and said nothing. Bronn pushed himself up, giving Jaime a firm look. “What’s up your arse, Lannister?” he asked.

Jaime shrugged again. He almost felt like a green boy. Especially one that had lost his sword hand and could no longer palm himself off in the darkness in the hopes of relieving the tension in his shoulders. “Just tired, is all.” he lied.

“Lying.” Bronn said. Jaime frowned. He hated that the sellsword knew him so well. It had been years since he had allowed anyone to grow so close to him, especially someone that did not share his blood or golden hair.

“Thinkin’ about your sister again?” he asked. “It’s been a few months now since you’ve gotten a good lay.”

He didn’t have the energy to argue, to threaten to knock his teeth in for saying what he said. Instead he just reached for the cotton cloth he kept near his packs and turned on his heel, leaving Bronn far behind him.

Jaime was glad for a bath, having spent so long riding that he smelled of nothing but sweat and horses. He unlaced the foolish golden hand and set it down beside his shed clothes, sinking carefully into the river. The cool water felt more than refreshing, so cold and sweet on his skin that he let out a long, slow sigh and sank back, letting his head rest against the rocky bank of the river.

He was not sure how long had passed before Bronn treaded up, his fingers working at the laces of his doublet. Jaime turned his back to him, ignoring his existence as the man sank into the water with a hum. Although, when Bronn reached a hand forward to take hold of Jaime’s cock, it became harder to ignore him.

Jaime reeled back with a hiss. “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.

Bronn gave a smirk. “Improving your mood, you pent up old clod.” he shrugged again. “Now don’t go overthinking this, Lannister. You spent your life with knights, you should know what it is to give a man a hand when he needs it.”

Jaime wasn’t sure why he let Bronn reach forward and take hold of him again. He wasn’t sure why he let his head loll back and his eyes fall shut as Bronn’s callused hand moved down the shaft of his hardening cock.

If Bronn ever asked him about it Jaime would claim he was thinking of Cersei or the ample bosomed tavern wench that had accidentally fallen into his lap the evening before. But in truth he could only think of Bronn’s sword-callused hands and the way they palmed knowledgeably at him, tightening and twisting his wrist until Jaime erupted with a strangled gasp.

He dropped his head backward, letting it fall against the mossy bank of the river. He stared straight ahead, though out of the corner of his eye he could see the jerking image of Bronn standing before him, his hand moving quickly enough to become a blur.

Heat poured into him, branching out from his belly like the branches of a sapling reaching for sun. Every muscle in his body wrung tight as a closed fist, veins breeching through his skin, sculpted sinew and tendon pulled taut and before he could even gasp, the pleasure of his peak was rushing through him.

A long moment passed as earth came stumbling back to him and he realised where he was. Bronn had turned his back to him, water slipping through his fingers as he lifted it from the bank to rinse his shoulders.

Jaime grimaced, imagining the awkwardness that would stretch through them from now on. He should never have let this happen. “We’ll keep riding tomorrow, then?” said Bronn, interrupting the process of Jaime’s intrusive thoughts.

“Aye.” said Jaime.

It was as if it had never happened.


End file.
